


Congrats on the Sex

by yoshizora



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 15:56:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13414647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: Zeke has an idea. Gorg is roped into it. Everything goes up in flames (sort of).





	Congrats on the Sex

**Author's Note:**

> maybe a sort-of-addendum to my other smutfic but reading that one really isn't necessary (pls)

“You wanna do _what?_ ” Gorg squints.

“What’s the matter, Gorg? Not up to the task?”

“Heh, you’re underestimating my skills as a patissier… and overestimating my willingness to put my neck out on the line. Even for you, Zeke.” Gorg looks completely unamused, but he knows that isn’t about to stop his Driver.

“It’ll be _funny!_ Trust me! Alright, what if you just handle the baking, and me and Pandy’ll do all the decorating?”

“… Fine. But you’re paying for everything. AND I’m not using any of my Mookah Flour.”

“Good enough!” Zeke gives him a thumbs-up.

 

* * *

 

Mòrag and Brighid are in bed, tangled together and sleepily kissing in a blissful haze, when the door bursts down. They both jolt. Brighid is quick to pull a blanket over them as Mòrag yells.

“Special delivery!!” Zeke and Pandoria both shout, barging right in with a large box held between them. Gorg is following them, hiding his face with one large mechanical hand. He’s mumbling to himself like he’d rather be anywhere else in Alrest right now.

“What are you _doing?!_ ” Mòrag shouts right back.

“It’s a cake!”

“What?!”

“It’s a cake,” Gorg repeats, muttering.

In perfect tandem, Zeke and Pandoria open the box and hold it out for Mòrag and Brighid to see. It is indeed a cake. A beautifully crafted one, at that. And right there in the center, in big frosted letters that look like a child’s handwriting, is…

“Congrats on the sex!!” They shout, with Gorg groaning in the background.

“ _What?!_ ”

“Yeaaaah, so, you guys really aren’t that subtle when you do it, you know? First off? The walls at most inns are pretty thin. And secondly? You use soooo much ether! Yeah! Looking right at you, Brighid!” Pandoria pushes her glasses up. “Have a little consideration for the rest of us Blades! It’s like being in Spirit Crucible Elpys all over again whenever you two go at it!”

Brighid looks absolutely appalled _and_ mortified. The blanket is catching on fire but neither she nor Mòrag seem to notice (or care).

“Pandy’s not the only one affected! Pyra, Dromarch… even poor Gorg, here! Think of poor Gorg!!” Zeke wails, dramatically pointing to his other Blade.

“Uhh, no. Really, I’m fine.”

“Haha! No need to be modest, buddy! I told you this’d be funny, didn’t I?”

“Hm...”

Gorg says nothing. He looks down at the floor in thought, then suddenly turns and sprints away.

“Wha— hey! Gorg, where’re you—“

“My Prince! Mòrag and Brighid are really _fired up!_ ”

“So they are, so they are… literally!”

“Shall we run?”

“Sounds like a plan!”

“After you, My Prince!”

“Thank you, dear Pandy!” They drop the box. “Enjoy the cake, you two!”

And so they run, yelling for Gorg to wait up for them.

 

* * *

 

Somehow, the fire damage is contained only to their room. The rest of the group emerges from all the noise and finds Mòrag and Brighid standing outside, clothes haphazardly tossed over them to preserve their modesty. Mòrag's pants may or may not be on backwards. She's counting out coins into a bag for the irate innkeeper.

The murderous look on Mòrag’s face is enough to stop anyone from asking questions.

Then Gorg walks out from the inn, holding a charred box and looking decidedly annoyed. Zeke and Pandoria sheepishly walk behind him, both charred all over as well and dripping water.

“Never again, Zeke. Never again,” Gorg is saying. “What’re you going to say to me now, huh?”

“Thank you, Gorg, for putting out the flames.” Zeke and Pandoria chant in unison.

Nia scratches her nose, looking between Mòrag, Brighid, Zeke, Pandoria, and Gorg. “Do we wanna know, or…”

“Perhaps it would be best to remain uninvolved, My Lady,” Dromarch whispers to her.

“T-Tora getting shivers just from looking at faces of Mòrag and Brighid…”

“Anyway!” Gorg yells. He balances the box above his head with one hand, does an odd sort of pose, then shoves it at Zeke’s chest. The cardboard is in serious danger of falling apart. “You made me bake it, and now you’re going to eat it! No cake of mine is going to go to waste!”

“But it’s _burned!_ Chum… mate… buddy… Gorg! Please, have mercy!”

“This is your just desserts, Zeke!”

“Haha! That’s a clever one!” Pandoria laughs.

“You too, Pandoria!”

“Whaaa—“

Pictured: a warm, tranquil evening in Fonsa Myma. One of the rooms on the second floor of Folmarie Inn is smoldering. Zeke and Pandoria are eating burned, mushy cake on the ground outside, crying, as Gorg berates them. Mòrag and Brighid are both half-dressed and ready to murder people. Tora looks like he’s about to wet himself.

“Bunch of idiots,” Mythra rolls her eyes.


End file.
